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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23934334">Tonight I'll Be Staying Here With You</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gorillazgal86/pseuds/Gorillazgal86'>Gorillazgal86</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman &amp; Terry Pratchett</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Aziraphale is an on brand bastard, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley is a Mess (Good Omens), First Time, Fluff, Footnotes, Friends to Lovers, Gentle Sex, Happy 30th Birthday Good Omens!, Love Confessions, M/M, Non-Graphic Smut, Sharing a Bed, Sleepovers, idiots to lovers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 22:35:10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,187</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23934334</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gorillazgal86/pseuds/Gorillazgal86</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>There was no playbook, no agreed path for how two occult creatures undid the delicate dance of repression they had practiced for six thousand years.  It had become so integral to their relationship that even with the shackles broken, they lacked the language and the skills to move beyond where they always had been. </i>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Alternatively:</p><p>Demon loves Angel,<br/>but his words are all tangled.</p><p>So the Angel makes a call,<br/>to stop this once and for all.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>73</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Tonight I'll Be Staying Here With You</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is just my little contribution to Good Omen's 30th birthday!  I'm reasonably new here, having come in with the miniseries, but my what a year it's been.  Through this wonderful story, I've found a deep well of creativity I thought was looooooooong dead and I've met the most amazing people.</p><p>Thank you Neil Gaiman and Terry Pratchett for this most treasured gift, my life has been made immeasurably richer through this story of an Angel and a Demon (who sauntered vaguely downwards).</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Crowley couldn’t sleep. Or  rather, he didn’t want to sleep.  His mind buzzed pleasantly with the categorisation and analysis of where he found himself at this exact moment in time, some 6 months after Adam Young saved the world.  </p><p>The surroundings were familiar enough, it was his flat after all.  It was his polished concrete walls, smooth except for the organic lines of houseplant shadows. It was his window where streetlights and stars shone through, casting stripes of fuzzy light across his black satin bed sheets.  </p><p>What was new, was the steady, heavy breaths of the figure sleeping soundly beside him.  The only thing visible were pale blonde, fluffy cotton ball curls contrasting against the inky blackness of the sheets.  Crowley couldn’t tear his eyes away if he wanted to. And he most certainly did not want to.  He was transfixed by the regular rise and fall of the form beside him, the soft snores a sweet symphony to his ears.  He wanted to reach out, wind his fingers into the downy soft hair, curl his body against the sleeping form, but too fast and too soon echoed through his mind.  </p><p>They were free.  It had been half a year since they successfully fooled their respective head offices and were officially free-agents and released to do whatever their heart desired.  Crowley had imagined this outcome for more lifetimes than he was prepared to admit to.  He’d envisioned impassioned embraces, a rush of affection and confessions spilling forth from if not Aziraphale, then certainly himself the moment the barrier was lifted.  But no such moment had actually occurred.</p><p>There was no playbook, no agreed path for how<a id="return1" name="return1"></a> two occult creatures<sup>[<a href="#note1">1</a>]</sup> undid the delicate dance of repression they had practiced for six thousand years.  It had become so integral to their relationship that even with the shackles broken, they lacked the language and the skills to move beyond where they always had been.  Crowley felt a bit bold even assuming that Aziraphale shared any of his grander feelings and that it wasn’t a figment of his own overactive imagination.  </p><p>In the lead-up to the Apocalypse, they had worked closely together and so spending time in each other’s company was not necessarily new. Even the guarded glances over his shoulder were more a nervous tick at this point then out of any real concern.  Habits built over a lifetime were hard enough to break, habits honed since time began, well, there was no self-help book or Google guidance available for that particular issue.</p><p>So, despite being free and technically able to express exactly the contents of his heart and mind, his entire being lacked the ability with which to communicate them and the knowledge that anything he felt was in any way mutual. </p><p>Thus, Crowley and Aziraphale had carried on in much the same way they always had:  enjoying meals in fine London restaurants, spending innumerable evenings in either the bookshop or his flat with an unlimited supply of fine French wines and enough conversation to fill any awkward silences that may occasionally fall over them.  And it was good.  Crowley couldn’t complain about the state of affairs, <a id="return2" name="return2"></a>even if a tiny<sup>[<a href="#note2">2</a>]</sup> part of his brain longed to tip them out of the <em>friends and companions</em> sphere into something altogether more intimate. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>This was one such evening of a bit too much wine and quite a rousing discussion on which<a id="return3" name="return3"></a> Hamlet reigned supreme.<sup>[<a href="#note3">3</a>]</sup>    It was all going in the ordinary fashion and so it came as  complete shock when Aziraphale had casually announced:</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“I am feeling rather too good to sober up at the moment and if it’s quite alright, Crowley, I’d like to stay the night.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Ngk,”  Crowley responded, meaningfully.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Sleepovers of this nature were not unheard of exactly.  Crowley had spent many an inebriated night melted across the battered old sofa in<a id="return4" name="return4"></a> the backroom of the bookshop.<sup>[<a href="#note4">4</a>]</sup>    Even Aziraphale, after his bookshop had been levelled to a pile of cinders and ash, had stayed at his flat.  This was, however, the first time Aziraphale had ever asked to stay and Crowley was simply caught so off-guard by the request, it took several long moments for his brain to reboot and the English language to resume operation.  </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Uh.  Mmm, er . . . . yes . . of course, sure, whatever ya want,” Crowley sputtered, aiming for some level of calm, cool and collected and missing the mark considerably.  </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Aziraphale, for his part, looked completely unperturbed, like he hadn’t just dropped a bomb in the middle of Crowley’s stylish, sleek lounge.  He just smiled that bright angel smile, that dimpled his cheeks and made his eyes sparkle with a heady combination of immensely pleased and, Crowley may have been imagining it, mischief.  </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Wonderful!  Thank you my dear, though I am sorry for the short notice.  Perhaps it is a bit rude of me to just invite myself in like that, but I am not quite ready for the evening to end just yet.  Another glass of wine?”  Aziraphale said easily and poured a healthy measure into Crowley’s glass.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Crowley was entirely too preoccupied dissecting the meaning of <em>I'm not quite ready for the evening to end just yet</em> and puzzling through where exactly<a id="return5" name="return5"></a> they would sleep.<sup>[<a href="#note5">5</a>]</sup>    It took several long moments to register that Aziraphale was looking at him with an increasingly impatient expression, his foot tapping a steady rhythm on the floor.  Crowley pulled desperately to gather his thoughts which were quickly careening off a cliff and could only blink uselessly at Aziraphale’s direction.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“I’m sorry Crowley, perhaps I was a bit too bold and forthcoming with such a request.  Perhaps it’s better I go, you’re a million miles away,”  Azirpahale uncrossed his legs, setting his freshly poured glass of wine aside and stood as if to leave.  </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>All of Crowley seemed to snap back into consciousness and dove straight into panic mode and he leapt forward, stumbling towards Aziraphale. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“No!  I mean, that’s not what I meant, just em, momentarily distracted.  Please, don’t go,” </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>His eyes were fixed on Aziraphale, trying to read the angel’s impenetrable expression.  Aziraphale glanced him up and down, shook his head and scooped back up his wine glass, taking a thoughtful sip, something playing at the angel’s lips from behind the glass rim and Crowley couldn’t decide if it was a frown . . . or a smirk.  </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>With that crisis averted, the warm cosiness of the wine settled between them again.  Their good-natured bantering and bickering found it’s familiar cadence and such foolish notions of beds and what one could do in them, was pushed to the very back of Crowley’s mind.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>The night wore on in the usual way and Crowley was feeling an agreeable weight in his limbs, humming along as Aziraphale recounted some anecdote, though Crowley was too consumed in watching the excited way Aziraphale’s hands moved in time with the story, like little white doves flitting across his face, his cherubic cheeks flushed with glee and Bordeau.  </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>The story in and of itself wasn’t important.  From the snippets Crowley caught,<a id="return6" name="return6"></a> he’d heard it before.<sup>[<a href="#note6">6</a>]</sup>    It was the watching that Crowley liked the best.  This was true of most things Aziraphale did, be it wrapping his lips around a spoon of chocolate ganache, the way he would stretch to reach a book from a high shelf, his waistcoat and shirt pulling up just so to reveal the curve of his tummy or even the way Aziraphale settled into his favourite armchair at the end of the day, his cardigan on, wine glass balanced in his hand and those ridiculous spectacles he didn’t need perched on the end of his nose.  Yes, Crowley was quite sure he could watch Aziraphale do about anything and be perfectly content.  </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Crowley!”  </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Aziraphale’s voice came out a bit sharp and when Crowley managed to refocus his vision, that mild impatience was painted across the angel’s features again.  Crowley frowned, wondering if he had missed something particularly important.  </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Yes, Angel?”  Crowley said, his tongue thick with drink, his words slurring slightly.  </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“You’d wandered away again.  Are you sure everything’s all right?”  </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Yeah, sure.  Mm, just tired,”  Crowley cast him a winning, if sleepy smile, which seemed to satisfy Aziraphale.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“It is quite late, perhaps it’s time we retire?”  Aziraphale suggested, standing and collecting their glasses, moving them dutifully to the sink in the nearby open kitchen.  </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>The wine sludge in his mind meant Crowley processed Aziraphale’s words slowly and it wasn’t until Aziraphale was returning from the kitchen that the gravity of the situation now before him revealed itself. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Aziraphale was staying.  Here.  Tonight.  With him.  </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Crowley’s heart jumped into his throat and he forced his limbs to propel him upright into a standing position and he glanced frantically around at the sofa he’d just stood from and began working through an invisible decision tree in his mind.  </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“I can sleep out here, you’re a guest and all, you take the bed,”  Crowley offered, his voice an uncomfortable squeak that made him cringe.  </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Aziraphale tilted his head thoughtfully and then let out one of his bright, signature Angel™ laughs.  He waved dismissively in Crowley’s direction and Crowley’s cogs were turning very quickly, trying to work out exactly what seemed so patently obvious to Aziraphale.  </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Don’t be so silly, it’s your bed, I couldn’t possibly make you sleep out here.  You’d be terribly uncomfortable.  We can share.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Azirahpale made it all sound very reasonable, perfectly normal.  Nothing alarming or unusual about this situation at all.  Why wouldn’t they share a bed, what could possibly be strange about that.  Nevermind such a thing had never happened before.  Nevermind the fact the thought sent Crowley in a swiftly spinning downward spiral<a id="return7" name="return7"></a> on what it all meant.<sup>[<a href="#note7">7</a>]</sup>    Aziraphale’s voice calling his name pulled him back into the present and he swallowed hard, steeling himself.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>
  <em>This is fine.  I’m fine.  It’s just me and my best friend, having a slumber party.  Human children do this for fun. This is fun. </em>
</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Yeah, fair enough!”  Crowley squawked and even as Aziraphale arched his eyebrow at him, he managed to plaster on a smile.  </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Crowley’s insides felt hot and liquid as he made a weak gesture towards the bedroom, commanding his legs forward through sheer force of will to lead the way.  He pushed back the heavy concrete door, revealing the simple room, made up of just a large bed with black satin sheets, two steel side tables and houseplants of various sizes dotted across the floor.  Aziraphale breezed easily past him, as if Crowley hadn’t just revealed the heart of his home to him, the most intimate part of his living space.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Lovely!”  Aziraphale chirped and his thick fingers began to work the small buttons at his wrist before reaching up to tug at his bow tie, easily pulling free the strip of tartan fabric.  </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Crowley’s mouth was dry and hanging open, his eyes wide and staring.  This was not happening.  He could have perhaps managed a miracle shift into pyjamas, but of course not.  Azriaphale, Guardian Angel of Vintage Clothing, would not just poof his precious clothes away into the void.  </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>
  <em>Stop staring.  Jesus, Crowley, go wash your teeth or something!  </em>
</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Crowley bit down hard on his lip and managed to tear his eyes away, though Azirpahale didn’t even seem to notice him as the waistcoat slid off his shoulders and he unfastened the buttons down his shirt front with practiced ease.  Crowley pointed wordlessly in the general direction of the bathroom and caught the glimmer of the angel’s bare back as his shirt fell away before he could drag himself away.  </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Pull it together, what’s the matter with you??  You’re the Temptor!  Original Sin!  And you’re letting a bit of half-naked angel turn you into a mess.  He’s your friend, wise up, you idiot!”  Crowley hissed at his own reflection in the mirror before jamming his toothbrush into his mouth, scrubbing at his teeth as they each had personally offended him.  </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Sorry to interrupt Crowley, I couldn’t possibly borrow a bit of toothpaste?”  Aziraphale’s voice floated from the door and Crowley jerked his head in surprise, a fat droplet of foamy toothpaste dribbled down his chin.  </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>How much of his lecture to himself in the mirror Aziraphale had heard, Crowley couldn’t be certain.  Aziraphale seemed relaxed and comfortable, now dressed in predictably tartan flannel pyjamas.  Crowley’s heart thumped insistently against his chest and he distracted himself with handing the flattened tube to Aziraphale with a mumbled offering, who thanked him very politely and sidled next to him to start brushing his own teeth.  </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>His eyes glanced back up to the mirror and the sight that greeted him which, while rather quaint in it’s domesticity, was unsettling.  Aziraphale hummed a tune as he worked across his teeth, like this is something they did all the time, like sharing a bathroom and brushing their teeth together was just how they hung out,<a id="return8" name="return8"></a> as the kids might say.<sup>[<a href="#note8">8</a>]</sup>    His skin felt hot and prickly, the small hamster powering his brain threatened to quit under the strain of the mental gymnastics this evening was requiring of it. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Crowley leaned over to spit out the toothpaste, a flush rushed through his cheeks, as he felt a bit rude at spitting in front of Aziraphale.  </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>He stalked back to his room while Azirpahale finished and his first order of business was to grab the nearest pillow and scream desperately inside it.  He was in a dream or a nightmare or some alternate reality, he wasn't sure.  He forced himself to consider the positives.  Aziraphale seemed quite content and if anyone was moving too fast, it was surely Aziraphale.  Crowley had been a model host, had offered to kip on the sofa, had excused himself to allow Azirphale to change and well, if the angel wanted to do whatever the hell he was doing, then this was a good thing, if a bit strange.  </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Crowley’s ordinary night clothes of nothingness wouldn’t do this evening and so he miracled a set of black satin pyjamas.  He looked down with a frown and considered that now he’d just blend in with the bed, but oh well.  He pulled back the duvet and slid under, pulling the thick blanket tightly under this chin and feigned sleep, one eye cracked open as Aziraphale padded back in and slipped in beside him.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Oh!”  Aziraphale said as he slid between the sheets.  Crowley glanced over cautiously.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Everything okay?”  Crowley said slowly.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Yes, everything is just fine, this is a wonderful bed, it’s very comfortable!  The mattress is so soft and the sheets so . . .silky,”  Aziraphale beamed and wiggled in satisfaction.  </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Crowley decided he’d worked out what was going on.  Hell had clearly worked out a way to discorporate him and drag him back, via this doppelgänger who looked and sounded like his friend, but was actually a demon.  This creature bore a passing resemblance to his friend, certainly, but gone was the nervous energy, the omnipresent worry of impropriety or fraternising as Aziraphale had once phrased their interactions.  Aziraphale was so at ease and relaxed and the wine could only account for a part of it.  </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Crowley nodded slowly at Aziraphale’s assessment of his bed and shot a cautious glance to watch as Azirpahale settled himself back against the headboard, a book appearing in his hands in twist of his wrist and opened it where his bookmark lay.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Thanks Angel, I’m glad you find it comfortable,”  Crowley said and Aziraphale beamed another smile at him, the small round spectacles having also just appeared as if from thin air.  </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Very much so.  I hope you don’t mind, if I read a bit?”  Aziraphale asked and turned his eyes back to his book as though Crowley’s response wasn’t really required, merely requested out of courtesy.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Yeah, sure no problem, knock yourself out,”  Crowley said and turned over to his side, finding a comfortable position and lying very still and very quiet, though not allowing himself to succumb to the sleep’s heavy softness.  </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>He listened to the sounds behind him, the fluttering of paper as the pages turned, the slow and evenly paced breaths of the being next to him, the whisper of sheets shuffling as more comfortable positions were sought.  And finally, came the sound of wire-framed glasses being closed at the arms and set on the steel side table, the final swish of sheets moving and then soft, purr-like snores rattling from Aziraphale’s throat.  All the time, Crowley worked harder than he ever had at maintaining a regularity to his own breath, trying to slow the rapid thudding of his heart.  </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>This was new and unusual and unexpected, but in a strange way, it felt like the puzzle pieces were fitting together neatly . . . it felt like coming home.  </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Once he was sure Aziraphale was asleep, Crowley pulled himself up into a sitting position and gazed down at the sleeping angel next to him and the wonderful way everything about Aziraphale seemed to contrast with the surroundings of Crowley’s flat and yet it seemed like he’d always belonged here.  Crowley’s heart swelled, yearning to reach out, run a finger through his curls, but held back, still not sure if this was real or some especially vivid dream.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>And so he watched a long time, studying and cataloging, in case the opportunity never arose again, Crowley did not want to miss a single moment.  He felt a rush of affection run through him, that for whatever reason, Azirpahale had wanted to stay tonight, had given Crowley this treasured gift of just sharing this intimate space together.  </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Then, a flash of a thousand blue eyes crossed Crowley’s vision, gone in the same instance that they came and Aziraphale’s voice followed, thick with sleep.  </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Crowley?”  </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Crowley scrambled in surprise trying to find somewhere else to look and instead jerked his head about and flailed his arms.  </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Sorry!  I thought you were asleep!  I . . .”  Crowley flustered and a rising heat burned his neck to his cheeks.  </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“You were watching me,”  Azirpahale said simply, there was no accusation in his voice, no judgement, but Crowley was tongue tied and could only nod in response.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Azriaphale tilted his head thoughtfully, his expression unreadable in the dim light of the room before sitting up and smoothing the duvet across his lap primly.  </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Is there anything you need?”  Aziraphale asked, holding Crowley’s gaze.  </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Crowley stuttered, his tongue twisted and his face pulled into a mixture of surprised and apologetic.  There was a lot he needed: he needed to know if his foolish feelings for Aziraphale were in fact foolish, if the flame he’d maintained since Aziraphale had relinquished that flaming sword in Eden burned as brightly for the angel as it did for him.  He needed to know what it felt like to hold Aziraphale in his arms, to have that warm bulk pressed alongside his own sharp angles.  There was so much he knew about Aziraphale, but still had so very much more he wanted to learn.   </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>But he couldn’t say any of that.  He couldn’t get his lips to form the words, to get his breath to carry them into the air.  He finally managed to look down at his hands and then looked back up Aziraphale and in a flash of madness, he pressed himself forward, closing the distance between them, allowing his lips to communicate what his voice had failed to do.  </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Crowley waited to be pushed back, waited for the firm but gently worded rejection that would follow, however as he carefully pulled back from the chaste and hurried kiss, neither came.  </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Aziraphale’s mouth twisted into a surprised, wordless “oh”, his fingers reaching up to run across his lips.  The air between them hung heavy and laden with something Crowley couldn’t name.  He watched wide-eyed as Aziraphale’s expression changed from stunned, to confused and finally as a smile blossomed to understanding and (though Crowley hesitated to assume) pleased.  </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>The angel said nothing and Crowley was too focussed on holding his gaze to notice the hand that had drifted up until it pressed past his ear and into his hair.  Crowley bent into it instinctively and let his eyes close and Aziraphale’s lips were against his again, just as careful as Crowley had been with him, but softer, more searching.  Crowley felt the nerves and anxiety that he’d built around this moment to melt from his limbs, replaced instead with a comforting warmth that was cosy and homely.  </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>When Aziraphale pulled back, Crowley opened his eyes slowly, unable to repress his own floppy grin.  Aziraphale looked like he did when he’d tasted an especially delicious rare delicacy, pleased and<a id="return9" name="return9"></a> yet hungry for more.<sup>[<a href="#note9">9</a>]</sup>    Crowley didn’t have much time to savour the look for too long as Aziraphale’s other hand gripped into the lapel of his pyjama top and pulled him in for a more urgent kiss.  </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Crowley gasped against it, his own arms winding around Azirpahale’s shoulders, his legs scrambling to straddle the angel’s lap, every atom of his being intent on getting closer as the invisible wall between them crumbled.  His mind was clear, the frantic thoughts fell from his mind, all he could truly focus on was the soft slide of Aziraphale’s mouth against his, the polite, yet insistent way Azirphale’s tongue sought permission to meet his.  Every sensation was new and exciting, bright thrilling sparks ran through him, and yet this felt familiar and easy. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>They pulled away just enough to catch a breath they didn’t need, hands moving again on their own accord as buttons were unfastened, bare chests revealed, fingertips meeting the warm and yielding skin underneath.  Aziraphale bent his head slightly to dust kisses down Crowley’s face, taking his time, his lips memorising the curve and jut of Crowley’s jawbone.  Crowley tilted his head back allowing Aziraphale the space he needed as his hands traced across Aziraphale’s broad shoulders and down his back to tease the space at his shoulder blades that marked the base of his wings.  Crowley could feel the downy feathers even while hidden and if he looked close enough, he could see the gently sloping outline of the angel’s wings.  As if his prodding fingers had asked permission, Aziraphale’s wings opened fully against his fingers and curved to wrap around them both.  </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Crowley sighed as the linen and lavender scented feathers surrounded them in a pure white blanket, unable to stop the prickle of tears at his eyes, so overwhelmingly beautiful was the gesture.  He pulled his eyes back to Aziraphale, who was still kissing sweetly against his neck and his heart skipped in awe.  He wound his fingers into Aziraphale’s hair, moaning quietly at his gentle ministrations.  </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Crowley?”  Aziraphale said against his skin.  “Can I see yours too?”  He looked up, his eyes wet and wide and when Azirpahale asked, Crowley could never say no.  </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Yeah . . . if you wanna.” </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>His own wings unfurled in a whispered whoosh, curling around Aziraphale, the sensation of their primaries pushing against each other sent a bright tingle down the expanse of his wings and down his spine.  </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Aziraphale wore the most delicate smile as his fingers tentatively reached out to press into Crowley’s wings, gentle and cautious at first, but growing in confidence as Crowley mewled against the fingers combing through his wings.  No other creature had touched his wings since he Fell, he couldn’t even remember what it felt like to have another being burrow into his feathers and the sensation was incredibly sensitive, his nerves lighting up brightly underneath his skin.  He panted and squirmed into it, needing more of it even as the intensity of it bordered on uncomfortable. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“It’s been a long time. . . “  He gasped.  </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“I know my dear.  It has been for me too,”  Aziraphale soothed and pressed another tender, heartfelt kiss against Crowley’s mouth.  </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Crowley’s heart shattered into million pieces.  They’d both been here for so long, on their own with only each other.  They lived effectively human lives, albeit ones that were not burdened with mortality.  In all the times he’d felt desperately alone (even if he didn’t necessarily want the company available to him in Hell), he’d never truly considered that Aziraphale had felt that same crushing loneliness. His hands moved to cradle Aziraphale’s face, peppering soft kisses there as he started to speak. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“I’m sorry Angel.  I’m sorry I’ve left it so long, that I’ve never asked you how you were, how you really were,”  Crowley whispered and Aziraphale just shushed him quietly, pulling his fingers from the depth of Crowley’s wings and pushed the hair back off his forehead.  </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“None of that.  There’s nothing to be sorry for.  We’re here now,”  Aziraphale said and bundled Crowley into his chest.  </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Crowley wasn’t certain if he wanted to cry or laugh.  Aziraphale, sensible as always, was absolutely right.  This was not the time for apologies or ruminating on their mistakes and missteps.  They had far more pressing matters to attend to.  </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Their voices stilled and instead they spoke with their hands and lips, tracing and exploring every line and curve of each other’s bodies, finding those spots that drew forth sighs and moans and sweet, wordless whispers. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>A pleasant heat seeped through Crowley’s limbs as Aziraphle shifted them so Crowley lay on his back, the angels’ bulk moving above him.  He felt Aziraphale’s thick thumbs hook into the elastic of his pyjama bottoms, sliding the silky fabric down his legs, his erection bouncing free against his abdomen.  Crowley’s thighs dropped open easily to accommodate Aziraphale between them, reaching up himself to run his fingers down Aziraphale’s spine, before tugging his pyjamas down, his eyes fixed on the thick cock that emerged.  </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>He swallowed hard, his heart thumping in his ears and wound his legs around Aziaphale’s hips, marvelling at the way he pressed into soft, plush flesh.  Crowley rolled his hips up, giving a quiet, needy moan, locking his ankles at the base of Azirpahale’s back.  </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Angel, want you.  I need you, please,”  Crowley whispered and Aziraphale nodded. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Aziraphale snaked a hand between them, stopping for a moment to wrap his fingers around Crowley and give an experimental tug down his shaft, Crowley’s body jerking in response.  He smiled at this and bent to press a slow kiss against Crowley.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“You’re perfect, Crowley.  Look how wonderful you are,”  Aziraphahle breathed, his voice soft as a prayer.  </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Azirahale’s praise rushed through him like a drug and Crowley could burst from the praise alone.  He looked away, not quite able to cope with the intensity of knowing that Aziraphale thought he was wonderful and could look at him like that, like he was something valued and precious.  </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Aziraphale pressed a slick finger inside him slowly, keeping his lips close against Crowley’s, alternating between sweet kisses and tender encouraging words, telling Crowley with every other breath how good he was, how perfect he was, how marvellous it was to be sharing this with him.  Crowley couldn’t hold back the tears any longer as he finally found himself in the very best of his dreams.  </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Aziraphale slid slowly inside him and Crowley’s hands scrambled into Aziraphale’s wings, needing to ground himself from floating away.  He felt made whole, complete, the missing part of himself, slotted into place.  </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Aziraphale,”  Crowley breathed and Aziraphale looked at him with a warm and dazzling smile and a comforting glow beamed around him.  </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>This was a new smile, one Crowley had never seen before, and it was just for him.  He buried his face into Aziraphale chest for a moment before pulling back to see the radiant smile still there and Crowley tingled to his toes in the sheet delight the simple expression made him feel. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Yes, Crowley?”  Aziraphale asked.  </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“I love you.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Aziraphale continued to smile that effervescent smile, causing fizzing bubbles of joy to erupt in Crowley’s stomach.  Aziraphale studied him, pushed his hair back, stared into his eyes, like he was looking into the core of Crowley’s being. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“I know, you’ve loved me for so long, you showed me in every thing you did, every kindness you ever paid me, every time you came back even as I pushed you away.  You waited for me Crowely and you deserved to know this a lot sooner than now. . . . but I love you also,”  Aziraphale said softly and began to gently rock deeper into Crowley’s body.  </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Crowley couldn’t respond, there was nothing more he could say.  He wept quietly, overwhelmed with love and completion that he felt made new in every stroke into him.  They moved carefully at first, finding and then building their rhythm as their hands grappled across their heated skin, sweat beading across their flesh, pink and ruddy with pleasure and delight, tightly knotted arousal growing between them, each thrust forward bringing them closer to the edge.  </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Crowley came first, when Aziraphale thrust into him and pushed his fingers into the meat of his wings and Aziraphale followed closely behind, Crowley clenching and gasping around him.  </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Aziraphale settled his weight against Crowley’s body, sharing feather-light kisses, fingers still tracing the other’s unique curves and angles.  Their wings formed around them in a close cocoon of feathers.  Crowley felt drowsy and staited, his limbs heavy and winding into Aziraphale.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“I love you best, Crowley,”  Aziraphale whispered in his ear.  </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>And Crowley knew it was true.  He’d always known, deep down, in the space where he could be honest with himself, unburdened by anxiety and fear and rejection.  He nuzzled against the crook of Aziraphale’s neck and let Aziraphale bundle him in close and stroke his hair soothingly.  </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Me too, Angel,”  Crowley murmured.  </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>_____________</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Crowley woke the next morning from a restful sleep, the remnants of his favourite dream playing like a highlight reel through his mind.  He sighed and stretched, cracking one eye open to find a cup of coffee steaming fitfully on his side table.  Crowley furrowed his eyebrows as he considered the cup and what a moment ago had felt like a dream, revealed itself to be a memory.  </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Good morning,”  Aziraphale’s voice floated from behind him.  </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Crowley froze, the clear-headed light of day throwing doubts and fears into his mind.  He rolled over slowly, finding Aziraphalle propped against the headboard, his book balanced on his knee, spectacles balanced on the bottom of his nose, and his chest still bare.  The angel looked comfortable, like he was exactly where he belonged.  Crowley swallowed and pushed down the anxiety rising in his throat.  </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Morning,”  he said, sitting up slowly, pulling the cup of coffee into his hands, finding it perfectly hot, like every other cup of coffee he found waiting for him when he had an overnight with Azirapahle.  The angel sitting next to him, in his bed, however, was a new feature to this little treat. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“I hope I didn’t wake you my dear, you did look like you were having a lovely sleep,”  Aziraphale began.  “I’ve been thinking, quite a bit in the last number of months, at how much has changed and also, how little has changed.  And I hope you didn’t find me presumptuous last night, but I had quite decided that I’d grown tired of all this rather Victorian avoidance of a frank discussion.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Crowley nodded, his head still fuzzy from the night before and he couldn’t quite make out exactly what Aziraphale was getting at.  </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Frank discussion,” he echoed.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“Well yes.  I know it was a bit bold to just ask to stay, but we could have carried on like that for another lifetime, perhaps more.  A push in the right direction was needed.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“A push in the right direction . . . Angel, what does that mean?”  Crowley knitted his eyebrows taking a long sip on the coffee, hoping to find some clarity in the bitter black liquid.  </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“I rather had the idea of staying last night, long before last night.  And if it’s quite alright, I’d like to stay another night.  And the night after that.  And as many nights as you’d be willing to permit me,”  Aziraphale sighed.</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>It all began to make sense:  the deliberate ease with which Azirpahale had asked to stay, pyjamas and a toothbrush already in the angel’s possession . . . this had been rehearsed and practiced and so by the time Azirpahale felt fortified enough to execute his plan, he knew<a id="return10" name="return10"></a> exactly what he needed to do.<sup>[<a href="#note9">10</a>]</sup>  </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>The glorious bastard. </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Crowley could only laugh, partly in amusement, partly in disbelief.  That bubbling joy took hold in his belly again, fizzing pleasantly, making his head feel light in the most marvellous way.  Aziraphale gave him a sheepish look and then a smile broke across his face and laughter erupted from him as well.  </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>“You can stay as many nights as you’d like, Angel.”</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>In the next second, the cup of coffee in Crowley’s hands was miracled away and he was treated instead to a lapful of angel, which, by Crowley’s estimation, was a far finer way to start the morning anyway.  </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>
  <em>Throw my ticket out the window<br/>
Throw my suitcase out there, too<br/>
Throw my troubles out the door<br/>
I don't need them any more<br/>
'Cause tonight I'll be staying here with you -- Bob Dylan</em>
</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Note 1: <a id="note1" name="note1"></a>Well, fine, one occult, one ethereal.  [<a href="#return1">return to text</a>]</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Note 2: <a id="note2" name="note2"></a>HUGE.  [<a href="#return2">return to text</a>]<br/>
</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Note 3: <a id="note3" name="note3"></a> Aziraphale, predictably a fan of the old and the original, contended that Burbage, as the first man to lift a skull in existential contemplation, was clearly the standard by which all others had to be measured and by the angel’s estimation, none had quite reached those lofty heights.  Crowley argued, rather well he thought, that the young man who may have also been a doctor, did a rather excellent job as well and it would be unfair to write off more modern actors on the basis that they were not the first.  [<a href="#return3">return to text</a>]</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Note 4: <a id="note4" name="note4"></a>He couldn’t recall ever having asked permission to do so.  Rather, he’d wake up the next morning realising that in the ongoing war between Demon and Alcohol, Alcohol had bested him once again.  There was always a perfectly hot cup of coffee waiting for him on the side table, which Crowley tried not to put too much thought into the origins of how it got there.  [<a href="#return4">return to text</a>]</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>Note 5: <a id="note5" name="note5"></a>Angels and demons had no need for sleep and sleep didn’t have to happen exactly, so there’d be no technical need to share the bed.  But what if Aziraphale wanted to sleep and wanted the bed, surely the courteous thing would be to give him the bed . . . and Crowley could sleep on the sofa, like a gentleman.  But then that would mean Azirpahale would be in his bed.  Would that be too presumptuous, too suggestive?</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>
  <em>Hey Angel, let me show you my bed, where I sleep and <strike>frequently </strike> occasionally masturbate to thoughts of you. </em>
</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>
 How would Crowley even broach the subject?  Where on Earth had Aziraphale slept the last time?  Had they slept?  What in Heaven’s name had happened the last time?
</p><p>
  [<a href="#return5">return to text</a>]
</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>
 Note 6: <a id="note6" name="note6"></a> Despite 6,000 years worth of experiences, when drunk, Aziraphale had a tendency to repeat himself through the same 22 stories, by Crowley’s count.  There weren’t any of Aziraphale’s stories that Crowley hadn’t heard before.  He had been there for a good number of the best ones.  So well-rehearsed was this performance, that Crowley, even in less than stable states, knew exactly when to nod, laugh and purse his lips in concern for each one.  [<a href="#return6">return to text</a>]
</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>
  Note 7:<a id="note7" name="note7"></a> A considerable part of Crowley’s existence had been consumed with picking apart and analysing Aziraphale’s every word and look in his direction.  He reminded himself regularly that this was ridiculous and borderline bizarre but in the world before televisions and mobile phones, it had filled many a quiet evening.  Now, even with better distractions, the habit was hard to break.   [<a href="#return7">return to text</a>]
</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>
Note 8: <a id="note8" name="note8"></a> Crowley, like all who are no longer children -- or who never have been children for that matter -- hadn’t the faintest notion of what they might say.  [<a href="#return8">return to text</a>]
</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>
 Note 9: <a id="note9" name="note9"></a>Crowley had seen this look on a handful of occasions, though the earliest recorded instance was when the first of Petronius' oysters slipped from its shell into Aziraphale mouth.  In Crowley’s highly scientific, multi-point rubric of Aziraphale’s Looks &amp; Sounds, this particular look rated amongst the highest, scoring well in making the angel look utterly irresistible, down to the sparkling effect it had on his eyes and the way Aziraphale’s halo would hum in euphoria.  Humans couldn’t see the halo, of course, but Crowley could and that only earned it additional points.  [<a href="#return9">return to text</a>]
</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p><p>
Note 10:
<a id="note10" name="note10"></a> In fact, Azriaphale had the plan roughly outlined since 1941, though it was really only since the Apocalypse that he felt the stage was adequately set.  The script and stage directions would take some time to perfect but the angel was nothing if not method in his approach.  He’d been secretly carrying his overnight bag on every visit to Crowley’s for the past six months.  [<a href="#return10">return to text</a>]
</p><p>
  <em></em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>A thousand thank yous to the wonder <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/improfem">Improfem</a> for the much appreciated beta services and enthusiastic support for this silly bit of fluff!  &lt;3</p></blockquote></div></div>
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